HD 'Green Goddess'
by tigersilver
Summary: Harry sits down to a lovely dinner with friends. Warnings: post-Hogwarts; none, otherwise. It's all in your head. H/G, D/A, H/D


**HP Green Goddess**

Harry would've bet a thousand Galleons Malfoy would choose bleu cheese, but no, it was Green Goddess. On the side.

"Harry, she's asking what you want," Ginny nudged him.

"Oh! Sorry! Ah...lessee," Harry stalled, 'cause he hadn't been looking at the menu, but at Malfoy and Greengrass instead. "Um…"

"Get your usual, Potter," Malfoy suggested amiably, and only Harry heard the challenge. "You know you'll do it anyway."

"The steak _au poivre_, well-done," Ginny was in the midst of telling the waitress. Harry ignored her and her hand on his thigh, and concentrated on the menu instead. He would not, now, order his favorite chicken parmigiana, if only because Malfoy had just said he would. If that made him even more predictable, so be it. Malfoy hadn't wanted bleu cheese dressing.

"The spinach lasagna, please," Harry announced, with an air of faint triumph. He never, ever chose vegetarian entrees.

"Then have their house Caesar salad with that, Potter," Malfoy jumped in immediately, his knowing grey eyes fixed on Harry's. "You'll enjoy the contrast—very tangy, with lemon-infused oil. It'll go well with the wine, too." Harry nodded his approval, and did not look away.

Ginny's hand tightened on his leg, under the table. She was excited, Harry knew, having been looking forward for absolute ages to an evening out. Greengrass also seemed antsy, wriggling about in her chair. She had her long red nails dug into the sleeve of Malfoy's Muggle blazer, and that's where Harry's roving glance settled next.

"So, what've the two of you been up to?" Harry asked easily, shifting subtly in his seat.

"Oh—the usual," Malfoy smiled, smooth as glass, smooth as treacle, and Greengrass giggled like a little girl.

"Draco's always so modest," she bubbled over with vicarious pride, Greengrass did, and Harry wondered again about purebloods and their oddities. Ginny never burbled like this; she was refreshingly down-to-earth.

"I heard!" Ginny leant in confidingly, manicured fingertips shredding a roll for buttering, "So exciting, Draco, starting yet another new business venture. I wonder how you manage it all."

"Keeps me busy," Malfoy shrugged that off, and Greengrass's baby claws as well. "I like to be occupied."

Harry stuck a leg out farther under the table, seeking. When ankle bones bumped through silk and cotton, he breathed again.

"Mind you don't forget to relax, Malfoy," he smirked. "I know you've always valued your little entertainments."

"That I do, Potter," Malfoy admitted, and his feet in their expensive shoes had neatly caged Harry's trousered calf between them, squeezing.

"And what of your plans, Astoria?" Ginny inquired kindly, and patted Harry's knee just once, sharply, before her hand was removed.

"Oh! University, I think," Greengrass showed her age, her lovely face alight with excitement. She reminded Harry of a puppy at times, innocent and bright-eyed. "Papa's just an old fuddy-duddy; doesn't approve of higher education for women, but Draco here says I should go for it."

"Oh, yes," Harry agreed, breathing slow, his smile deep and steady. "You should; never miss out on an opportunity, I say."

"Absolutely," Malfoy chimed in, and Harry's leg was held warm and secure. "I'm all for it. I support Astoria in everything she wishes to accomplish." Ginny cocked her copper head and grinned at him, twining a vibrant red curl 'round one finger.

"Of course you do, Draco," she laughed, and toasted him with her half-full wineglass. "You're the master of taking advantage!"

Greengrass squealed with stifled delight at the double-entendre; Harry only chuckled.

The salads came, brought by their server, who bustled about with plates lined up her arm, military fashion. Malfoy gazed at his when it was set before him, considering, and Harry observed him carefully, as always. He caught the tiny flickering frown of indecision; the exact second Malfoy changed his mind. One socked foot, freed of its loafer, curled into the back of Harry's knee, teasing.

"Miss!" Malfoy called out to their waitress, who was deftly refreshing ice water in their goblets and placing a second basket of rolls. "If it's no trouble, I believe I'd rather the bleu cheese dressing, instead."

"Of course, sir," the cheery young Witch answered. "Right away." She was off to the kitchens, Malfoy's rejected salad in hand.

"Thought so." Quietly triumphant, Harry finally lowered his eyes to his own plate, overflowing with shredded crisp romaine and reeking deliciously of minced garlic and citrus-scented anchovy. It smelt so good; his mouth watered, anticipating his meal. "You're a creature of habit, aren't you, Malfoy?"

"No, you're right, Potter," Malfoy's eyes were moving, searching, landing briefly on Ginny's knowing smirk, Greengrass's oblivious face. Behind the cover of the trailing tablecloth, Harry's knee was quivering under the tensile strength of Malfoy's agile toes. "It's all about personal comfort levels, isn't it?"

"So it is, Malfoy," Harry agreed, forking up a bite. He was supremely content, and the dinner ahead looked to be an enjoyable prospect, particularly dessert. "So it is."


End file.
